Milk Run
by Disgruntled Peony
Summary: Darien and Hobbes were sent on a milk run, but it turns out to be anything but...


Author: liz_Z  
E-mail: liz_Z@secret-agent.com  
Category: Action/Adventure, Angst, with a bit of Humor thrown in  
Rating: PG-13  
Spoilers: None  
Disclaimer: I don't own the I-man characters, I don't make any money off of 'em, and I intend to do whatever I want to 'em. But I'll pay the medical bills for any damage I cause, so it's okay.  
Author's notes: This is just a little something I'm writing to fire up my muses before I start to delve into the countless plot bunnies that have been vying for my attention as of late. I'll give you fair warning: there's some severe Darien torture ahead. Not to mention some Hobbes torture as well... Go character torture! *evil grin* 

Hobbes hurt. He hurt all over. Why, he thought as he attempted to pull himself up off of the ground, had he listened to the Official when he said this job would be easy? Hobbes had had a feeling the job was a set-up from the start. After all, how many stripper clubs had numerous thugs lurking around, armed with brass knuckles and large knives?

  
In the briefing, the Official had claimed that the thugs were bodyguards for the owner of the club. Of course, Hobbes had mentally revised that particular section of the briefing when said 'bodyguards' had begun viciously attacking him, and Darien as well. Hobbes had managed to get several good punches in, but judging from the aching pain in the back of his head and the impressive lump that was beginning to form there, one of the large goons with the brass knuckles had managed to strike the last blow.

  
Hobbes finally managed to pull himself up into a sitting position without causing himself too much pain and began muttering to no one in particular. "Easy, he said. A milk run, he said. You'll be done in five minutes, he said. I should know by now never to listen when the Official says something like that."

  
"Hobbes, you're talking to yourself again," Darien said quietly, his voice coming from somewhere in the room. Hobbes looked around. Darien was nowhere to be seen, but it was obvious by the quavering tone in his voice that he was very likely in more pain than Hobbes was.

  
"No, I'm talking to God," Hobbes muttered as he stood up. Looking around, he finally managed to spot a clump of brown hair sticking out above a pile of crates in one corner of the room. He walked over to the crates, but stopped in shock as he saw the state his partner was in.

  
Darien was lying on the ground, his shirt soaked with blood. He was pressing a hand against his stomach. Hobbes walked over and moved the hand; he was immediately greeted by the sight of blood seeping slowly but steadily from a large wound. "Aw crap," Hobbes muttered, at a loss for anything else to say.

  
"It's that bad, huh?" Darien asked weakly.

  
"Worse," Hobbes said, shaking his head and bending down so he was sitting beside Darien. He pulled off his suit jacket and began ripping it apart so he could make a suitable bandage. Once he was finished he went about the task of doing his best to stop the bleeding and bandage the wound. By the time Hobbes was done Darien looked like he was dangerously close to passing out, but his injury was properly taken care of.

  
"What happened?" Hobbes asked, wondering how Darien had managed to get this badly injured.

  
"Aw man, I don't know," Darien groaned. "One of 'em knifed me, I guess. I was a little busy getting pounded into that tacky shag carpet to notice exactly when it happened."

  
"Wiseass," Hobbes muttered in an irritated tone of voice, but the irritation was merely a facade to hide his worry behind. Darien was not in good shape, to say the least. He needed to get to a hospital, and soon. Hobbes fumbled through his pockets briefly, searching for his cell-phone, but found nothing. "Figures," he growled in what was now very real irritation.

  
He stood up and began to look around the room he was in. Judging from the large amount of crates and boxes located in the immediate vicinity, he was willing to bet this place was some kind of storage area. There was only one way out that he could see; a small door across the room. He walked over and jiggled the door-handle to see if it would open, but as he had expected it was locked. That done, he immediately began to search the room for some other avenue of escape. But ten minutes later he was still no closer to figuring out an escape route than when he'd started.

  
Hobbes finally gave up, walking back over to Darien, sitting dejectedly on the ground, and silently berating himself for walking into this situation unprepared. The owner of the stripper club had been expecting them, and he should have anticipated that.

  
Hobbes was drawn back to reality when Darien placed a hand on his shoulder. "Hobbes, it's not your fault." Hobbes gave Darien a confused look, unsure of exactly what he meant. "This," Darien said, gesturing at the wound in his stomach. "It's not your fault."

  
"Oh, so now you're not only the Invisible Man, you're a mind-reader," Hobbes said bitterly.

  
Darien shook his head. "Nah, I've just worked with you long enough to know when you're letting yourself get eaten up by guilt, that's all."

  
Hobbes laughed, trying to shrug off Darien's comment. "Guilt, my friend? Nah, I'm just sorry I didn't get to knock more of those goons out before I went down." Particularly the one who had stuck a knife in Darien's chest, Hobbes thought silently.

  
Darien frowned. "Oh no you don't partner, I know what you're thinking." He started to sit up, but then fell back to the ground, gasping in pain and holding his midsection.

  
"Don't move!" Hobbes said sternly, placing a hand on Darien's shoulder in an attempt to pin the taller man to the ground.

  
"'Kay," Darien muttered quietly, traces of pain clearly evident in his tone. Thanks to his inopportune movement, his wound was bleeding heavily again; the makeshift bandage Hobbes had made for it was already becoming soaked with blood. Hobbes muttered several choice curses under his breath and began applying pressure to the wound with his fingertips. "Hobbes!" Darien yelped, trying to swat the offending hand away, "What're you doing? That HURTS!"

  
"I'm trying to stop the bleeding, now just hold still and shut up until I'm done!" Hobbes said, continuing to press against Darien's stomach with his fingertips. Finally, after what seemed like hours, the bleeding stopped again. Hobbes sat back, heaving a sigh of relief and wiping his bloody hands on his shirtfront. "Now, don't move," he said, giving Darien a look that brooked no argument.

  
"You don't have to tell me twice," Darien said, leaning his head back on the ground so he was facing the ceiling.

  
Hobbes thought about mentioning the fact that he had actually told Darien not to move several times, but decided not to. Instead he leaned back and stared up at the ceiling as well, mentioning in an off-hand tone, "You know what we use right about now?"

  
Darien smirked a little. "Besides a hospital, some real bandages, or a busty nurse? I give up, what?"

  
"Some granulated sugar," Hobbes said, glancing over at Darien to see his reaction.

  
"Sugar?" Darien said, letting out a surprised laugh that quickly turned into a moan as he realized that laughing wasn't very pleasant at the moment.

  
"Sugar," Hobbes said in acknowledgement. "A friend of mine told me if you pour it into a penetrating wound it'll help stop the bleeding, promote clotting, and discourage bacteria."

  
"You've gotta be kidding me," Darien said in a disbelieving tone.

  
Hobbes shook his head. "Nope, I'm absolutely serious."

  
"Hobbesy, you are one weird son of a gun," Darien said, the corners of his mouth twitching in amusement.

  
"Hey, don't knock it if it works," Hobbes said in a mock-defensive tone.

  
"Does it work?" Darien asked in blatant curiosity.

  
"Well," Hobbes said, a slightly sheepish look on his face, "I'm not sure. I never actually tried it myself..."

  
"A ha, I knew you weren't telling me something! Sorry partner, but you know how I feel about human experimentation," Darien said, eyeing Hobbes with a slightly leery expression on his face.

  
Hobbes was about to come up with a suitable retort, but the lone door to the room suddenly slammed open, revealing the owner of the strip club as he entered through it followed by several of his cronies. "Well gentlemen," he said, eyeing Darien and Hobbes with contempt, "I see you've been busy."

  
Darien gave the man an exasperated look. "Oh yeah, I've been having loads of fun bleeding all over the floor. What're you doing, do you have any idea who we are?"

  
The man nodded. "Actually, I do. You're from the Bureau of..." he paused for a moment to repress a snicker before he continued, "...Weights and Measures."

  
Hobbes stood to his feet, giving the man an icy look. "We're federal agents! It doesn't matter what Bureau we're with. Your men still assaulted federal agents, and believe me, you're gonna pay."

  
The man laughed. "How will anyone know my men assaulted federal agents if the bodies never turn up?"

  
Hobbes felt anger coursing through his body. He had long expected to die in the line of duty, but he'd never intended the same to happen to Darien. Fawkes was his partner, damnit! He was supposed to be able to protect his partner. And with that, he made up his mind. There was no way Darien was going to die today. And if Hobbes had to die to assure that his partner survived, then so be it.

  
Without warning Hobbes charged at the owner of the stripper club and barreled into him with all the grace of a professional football player, tackling him to the ground. "Run Fawkes," he yelled, forgetting for the moment that Darien wasn't in any condition to walk, let alone run. The only thought on his mind was to take down as many of the enemy as he could before he went down himself.

  
Hobbes dealt the owner of the strip club a sharp blow to the ribs and then leapt back to his feet, punching the nearest crony so hard on the jaw that he fell unconscious to the ground. He immediately started to attack goon number two.

  
Unfortunately, right after Hobbes dealt a crushing blow to goon number three, a very powerful set of arms grabbed him from behind, and try as he might Hobbes was unable to escape their iron grip. Meanwhile the owner of the strip club pulled himself to his feet, gingerly placing a hand on his ribs and giving Hobbes a death-glare. "That wasn't a wise move," he said, pulling a gun out of his pocket and aiming it at Hobbes. Hobbes recognized it instantly; the gun was, after all, his own.

  
"I should shoot you now," the man said, holding the gun just inches from Hobbes' face. "But I won't. Not yet." He smiled. "You seemed very concerned for the welfare of your partner. What was his name, Fawkes? Well, since I was going to kill both of you anyway I might as well kill him first."

  
"Leave Fawkes alone," Hobbes said in a desperate tone, frantically trying to crane his neck so he could look at his partner. But the hulk that was holding him prisoner kept him firmly in place, so it was impossible to see behind him.

  
The man gave Hobbes a mock-apologetic look. "Sorry, but that's my decision, and I've never been one to change my mind." He looked up at the face of the man who was currently holding Hobbes in a vice-like grip. "Bruno, let him see." Bruno promptly turned around and dragged Hobbes with him, allowing Hobbes to turn anguished eyes to the spot where Darien had been lying just minutes before.

  
The spot that was currently empty.

  
The owner of the strip club frowned and muttered a curse under his breath. Hobbes, on the other hand, could feel a broad and somewhat cheeky grin spreading across his features. "Hey pal," he said, giving the man a pointed look, "looks like my buddy escaped."

  
The man glared at Hobbes and then turned to some of his cronies. "Weren't any of you keeping an eye on him?" he asked angrily, gesturing at the spot Darien had been occupying not long ago. His men exchanged sheepish glances and shook their heads negatively. "Find him!" the owner of the club demanded in a tone that brooked no argument. His men scurried off to search, leaving Hobbes and the man holding him alone with the owner of the club.

  
"This is all your fault," the man said, leveling his gaze on Hobbes. "He escaped, and now he's going to call the police, and I'm probably going to get arrested, or at least have to keep a lower profile for a while." He walked up to Hobbes, so that they were standing face to face. "I don't like the thought of that. Not one bit." He took a few steps to the side, so he could hiss into Hobbes' ear. "It looks like I won't be able to kill your partner after all." He raised the gun to Hobbes' temple. "But at least I can kill you."

  
"You got that wrong," a disembodied voice said in an angry tone. The owner of the club jerked around in an attempt to locate the source of the voice. Then his eyes rolled up into the back of his head and he crumpled to the ground in an unconscious heap, as if some unseen force had attacked him. Hobbes took that opportunity to bring his fist down hard in the general direction of Bruno's groin. Bruno crumpled to the ground, curled up in pain.

  
Hobbes leaned down and grabbed his gun. Then he aimed it at Bruno and looked around, yelling "Hey Fawkes, you can cut the see-through act now."

  
Darien immediately reappeared, one hand holding a pair of brass knuckles that he had undoubtedly grabbed off of one of the fallen guards and the other hand pressed firmly against his midsection. "You okay, Hobbesy?" he asked, giving Hobbes a worried look.

  
Hobbes nodded tersely. "You?"

  
Darien swayed on his feet, his eyes looking slightly unfocused. "Umm... actually, I think I'm gonna pass out now..." He was true to his word; his eyes immediately rolled up in the back of his head and he started to fall to the floor. Hobbes lunged for Darien, managing to catch him just before his head impacted on the floorboards. Bruno tried to take advantage of Hobbes' distraction by getting to his feet and starting to run for him, but Hobbes merely raised his gun arm and shot Bruno in the kneecap. Bruno fell to the ground again, hollering in pain.

  
Hobbes walked over to Bruno, a merciless look on his face. "Don't try that again." Bruno merely whimpered in response; it was quite obvious he wouldn't have been able to anyway, with the bloody mess his knee had become. "Now," Hobbes said, looming over Bruno in a threatening manner, "where can I find a phone?"

***********

Several hours later, Hobbes sat nervously in his apartment bedroom. Claire had allowed Darien to be admitted to a hospital, although his care had been under her supervision. Hobbes had hovered around the waiting room for hours while Darien was in surgery for his wound, anxiously awaiting news of the outcome.

  
Once the surgery was finished, Claire informed Hobbes that it had been a success and Darien was now in the recuperation process. Then she had sent Bobby home, on the grounds that he was exhausted and needed to do a little recuperation of his own. Unfortunately, Hobbes had been doing very little resting and a great deal of worrying ever since he'd arrived at his apartment.

  
He leaned back on his bed, thinking back over the other events of the day, which had washed over him in a way that made them memorable, but only just. At some point in his pacing at the operating room, Eberts had informed him that the owner of the stripper's club, one Jerold Pavaracci, had been arrested. One Bruno Monetti had been arrested as well, but was currently in the hospital being treated for a bullet wound- not that that was a surprise to Hobbes in the least.

  
Unfortunately, no matter what train of thought Hobbes followed, sooner or later it led back to Darien, who was probably lying in some hospital bed drugged to the gills. And now that Hobbes thought about it, he was a little worried about how the surgery had gone too. He could only hope that with Claire supervising it, none of the surgeons had managed to leave a sponge in Darien's stomach.

  
Just then the phone rang, jerking Hobbes out of his trance. He reached over and answered the phone, saying in a somewhat exasperated tone, "What?"

  
"Hobbes, it's me."

  
"Fawkes?" Hobbes said in surprise, sitting up straighter.

  
"Yeah, thas me," Darien said, his voice slurred from all the painkillers that were probably being pumped into him at the moment.

  
"Fawkes, what are you doing?" Hobbes asked reproachfully. "You should be resting."

  
"Hey, don' go lecturing me, it wasn't easy t' get the nurses t' let me make this call and I'm not gonna jus' hang up now," Darien said in a resolute tone of voice.

  
"So, what did you call about?" Hobbes asked, genuinely curious as to why Darien had gone to all this trouble to make a phone call in the middle of the night.

  
"I jus' thought I should letcha know I'm okay," Darien drawled, "cuz I knew you'd be worried."

  
Hobbes felt a wry grin spreading across his face. "The mind-reader strikes again."

  
Darien groaned. "Don' do that man, it hurts t' laugh."

  
"Sorry," Hobbes said apologetically. His worry was vanishing bit by bit at the sound of his partner's voice, even though Darien was not particularly lucid at the moment. It was still a comfort, and one Hobbes now realized he'd desperately needed.

  
Just then a squabble of some sort broke out between Darien and a female voice Hobbes didn't recognize. After a moment he heard Darien say, "Hey Hobbes, th' nurse sez I need t' hang up now. You gonna stop by th' hospital tomorrow?"

  
"Wouldn't miss it for the world, partner," Hobbes said with a grin.

  
"K then, I'd better hang up b'fore she does it for me. Oh, and jus' so you know," he said, in a quieter, more confidential tone, "Claire's gonna wanna have a word or two with ya when ya show up t'morrow. I told her about how you were starin' at that top-heavy brunette back at th' club, before th' brass knuckle gang came after us. I think she was a little jealous."

  
Hobbes frowned. "Fawkes, you were the one staring at the brunette!"

  
"Oh yeah," Darien drawled, "You were starin' at the blonde." He paused for a moment and then said in a teasing tone, "Come t' think of it, she looked a little like th' Keeper, didn't she?"

  
Hobbes rolled his eyes and said in a warning tone, "Fawkes..."

  
Just then there was a loud commotion on the other end of the line, followed by a distinctly feminine voice saying into the receiver, "I'm sorry, but Mister Fawkes needs his rest. I'm going to have to ask you to hang up." Then, before Hobbes had the chance to do so, the person on the other end did so on their end of the line.

  
Hobbes shook his head and hung up the phone, laughing. Then he rolled over and closed his eyes, feeling completely relaxed. Soon, things would be back to normal. He would be able to watch Darien's back, just like always. But one thing was for sure; he would be going to great lengths to avoid any more 'milk runs'.

The End


End file.
